Which Road Am I Walking Down Tonight?
by Roselyne
Summary: After the way WRESTLEMANIA 27 badly ended for him, John Cena ponders on the reasons behind his downfall, and which future to chose: Struggling to remain a FACE even if the whole WWE Universe now hates him? Or is it time for him to return to the HEEL side?


_Warning: _Before you proceed, just keep in mind that **english is NOT my mother language**. So there will certainly be mistakes in this text. Yet, I'm eager to improve, so if you see some corrections to make, don't hesitate to contact me :-)

_Author's note:_ This story was written after what happened at **Wrestlemania 27**, but also after the way some "fans" behaved at **John Cena's Press Conference**. I'll have a quite angry note after the story.

_Background Music:_ As a music can influence our mood and the way we write, here's the song that was playing while I wrote the synopsis and developed storyline. Dive into the atmosphere of the story with **Angels and Airwaves - "The Flight of Apollo"**.

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**Which Road Am I Walking Down Tonight?**

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**Atlanta - April 3rd, 2011**

Wreslemania's heart was still beating, and would keep beating for days. It was after all the SuperBowl equivalent for the wrestling sport. Over 70.000 of people gathering in the same place with the same goal: to witness the fights of the champions, to breathe the same air as them, to share that moment altogether, to see the conclusion of long term feuds, or the birth of new ones which would pave the memory for future generations. 71.167 people exactly, focusing directly their attention to what happened in the middle of the ring. If someone could tap the energy that the crowd generated, one could probably light the city of Atlanta for at least a whole year. There would go the petrol price problem... Anybody who had been part of Wrestlemania had glimpsed the leading edge of a force so gigantic and so vital, that it made all the nuclear military hardware produced since 45, as harmful as a child's pop-gun fired into a Dr Pepper can. But that force would more create a world, than destroy one.

And the wrestlers did feed on that energy while walking down the ramp, or in the middle of the ring. The sensation they felt was that the pins-and-needles you got when a sleeping limb started to wake up, but without the painful side of it. They usually felt lit up, like the many spotlights surrounding the arena; they would absorb that force through every patch of skin, feeling the joyous power running through them, in their chest first, then racing down their legs and arms, and shooting upward into their skull, threatening to blow off the top of their cranium if they were not careful enough.

It was intoxicating. It was like a drug. They _needed_ this. This was what they were coming for. Even those who pretended to be there just for the titles, soon or later, they would come back for that energy. It was like their Fountain of Youth. And once a year, just like the wild animals in the savannah, they would gather around the waterhole. This would help them go through the rest of the year. Or at least until the next big event. Even though there was nothing as big for them as Wrestlemania. Tonight had been the Big Night on the Grandest of Stage, but most wrestlers would still feel the effect of it for days to come, starting their slow fall down from that level only after a week or two.

Sitting outside on the ledge of a two-floor building roof, aside from anybody and meditating on his own thoughts, John Cena could already feel the power down. It had never come down so fast, earlier. Maybe because this year, he had rather been _drained_ than charged. WrestleMania 27 - the day he had waited with sparkles in his eyes, the same way a child would wait for Christmas Day and run to check under the tree - that blessed day had finally become a _living nightmare_ for him. He had come there, hoping to solve the many feuds he had with other wrestlers, and to finally regain the title he had unfairly lost the year before because of a group called "The Nexus". He had hoped that everybody would play fair, and that the "good guys would win". And it had started well: Edge defeating Alberto Del Rio, Morrison's team defeating Vickie Guerrero's team, Big Show's team defeating Wade's Corre (former Nexus) team after less than three minutes, Randy Orton beating down CM Punk,... When his time had come to walk down the ramp, he had hoped that it would be the same for him. That finally, all these months of suffering would pay.

But it was counting without The Miz and The Rock. Both had gathered all their treacherous potentials, and mischievous schemes, to make his life a living hell. This was his 8th straight Wrestlemania match. He hadn't lost once a one-on-one WM match before. Until tonight.

Maybe it was because the crowd had been _against_ him this time? If more than 70.000 of people cheering you up is a unique and great experience, the same 70.000 people booing you obtains the reverse effect: it weights on your shoulders, and drains you out of your energy. That, and all the vicious kicks Miz had done in his head at the beginning of the match. John had walked through most of the match nauseous, with cotton-like legs, blurred vision, almost inexistent equilibrium, and the surreal feeling he was just inside a nightmare. His breathing was difficult, as well as just speaking. He had gone through that fight mostly silent. And that fight had lasted. Way too much.

When he had plunged on Miz, through the barriers, and they had both crashed in the middle of the crowd, he had decided that he was too exhausted to go on. He had closed his eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the sensation of the cold floor against him, trying to forget about the burning skin of the Miz also knocked out on his side. They had been both counted out, and the Miz had remained the WWE champion. At that point, Cena didn't care anymore. He would get a rematch when he would feel better.

But it was without The Rock's intervention. The Rock who had apparently decided to make his life miserable. The Rock who had taken the voice of the General Manager out, and decided instead to have the rematch immediately, with no disqualification, count-outs, cry-mommy or whatsoever. Cena had gathered what was left of his strength to drag an unconscious Miz on the ring, in order to finish this quickly. But then, The Rock had interfered and half knocked him out. As it was a no DQ match, the referee couldn't do anything about it. Once John was on the floor, the Miz had crawled on him, barely managing to pin his shoulders on the mat, until the referee had counted the fatal 1... 2... 3!

John Cena was done. His chances to recover his once WWE title were gone for good. Well, he would have to wait in line with the others now, before a chance would happen again. In a probably far future. When he had totally regained the shore of consciousness and realized the situation, he was fortunately too exhausted to be able to cry. He had just rolled on his side until the ledge of the ring, he had let himself drop heavily on the floor, and had crawled away on his knees and hands, refusing any help, or any assistance. And when he had been hidden from the look of anyone, he had curled up in a corner of darkness, where no one would see him, and had finally passed out.

When he had woken up again, he didn't feel a lot better. The only persons he could see from his point of view were the technicians, busy with the material to unplug or to take down. They barely paid attention to him as he walked amongst them, and he could reach the closest door. He needed air, so he climbed the two floors of stairs, until he arrived on a roof, breathing in deeply the fresh air of this Atlanta night. Looking down, he saw below the parking lot where some of the wrestlers had parked their cars the very morning. He noted that there were now more empty parking spaces than actual vehicles. He had probably been _out_ for awhile. Some of his fellows had most likely already left for the After Party. He really didn't feel like going there. Both physically and emotionally. So he sat at the ledge of the roof, his legs hanging loose, and just meditated, enjoying the relative silence, compared to the chaos that had been the arena earlier.

The silence was interrupted by voices, one of them sounding awfully familiar to him. He looked down. Two people had left the near building and were striding toward a bench twenty feet away from him, in order to join two other people who were already there. Cena realized that he hadn't even noticed the presence of those two. One of them was sit, hiding from his point of view the face of the other, lying his back on the bench, and apparently not in a very good state. Cena realized then with some fright who these people were as the two newcomers entered the circle of light of the lamppost near the bench.

"How are you feeling, Heath?". That low voice and thick accent were unmistakable.

It was Wade Barrett who had joined with Ezekiel Jackson. Justin Gabriel had already been by Heath's side, refusing to leave him alone. They still had their Corre tee-shirts on, but were now wearing jeans or casual trousers. The roof where John was sit, was almost totally engulfed in the dark. He could watch without being seen. And this voyeurism situation lead to fascination, as he observed the Corre team, other losers in this Wrestlemania game. Losers like he now was. He, who hadn't lost a Wrestlemania fight once in seven years. They were on the same boat now, and he could somehow feel some weird compassion for them. He had a glimpse of what they were usually going through.

With the exception of Ezekiel Jackson, he had once walked for awhile with the other three, when he had been forced to enter their group, "The Nexus". A lot of things had happened since. There had been a putsch in the Nexus a few months ago, and the fearsome group had split into two groups, with different mentalities than the original Nexus: "The New Nexus", a brainwashing sect led by CM Punk on RAW, and "The Corre", Wade's new group of equals on SMACKDOWN. Needless to say that whenever those two groups met, it always ended into a severe fight. And while CM Punk was always bragging about his magnificence as the New Nexus leader, Wade Barrett refused to be considered as the leader of The Corre, repeating tirelessly, regularly and with an admirable patience: _"No... There's no leader, we're all equals. Remember? I already told it last week... And even the week before..."._ He should have made it printed on their tee-shirts, just as John had made "Never give up" on his own.

The only thing John had decided to remember back then, just after the putsch, was that instead of having _one_ group of crazy enemies, he had now _two_ for the price of one. Yet, Wade had claimed that he had changed, that he had learned from his past mistakes, that he wanted peace. He had walked to John with an extended hand. And in return, John had slapped him right across the face, in the middle of the ring, in front of thousands of people. As if he wanted to make sure that Wade would forget about any alliance idea, for good. As if any idea of a _change_ in his habits was scaring him. As if he found it reassuring to have people defined into two clear - unmoving - groups. Those to protect, and those to destroy.

For him, whether named "New nexus" or "The Corre", it had meant the same. He was the rightful Paladin on his white horse, they were the bad guys dressed in black. His mission was to eliminate them all. Gray zones? Who cared? But tonight, after the crowd negative reaction towards him, he started feeling a little bit of what they usually felt, whenever they appeared somewhere. And it hurt.

Tonight, "New Nexus" had died after the defeat of their only one member left: CM Punk. And John was now observing the only survivors of the original Nexus - endangered specie - wondering how long they would survive.

"Heath?". Wade's low voice could be heard again as Heath wasn't moving on the bench.

"I'm ok. No big deal, _'daddy'_", Heath managed to say, while trying with some obvious efforts to sit up, holding the back of his neck with his eyes tight shut. Justin put a comforting hand between his shoulder-blades. Wade looked down at the red haired one with a slight frown, then signed and knelt in front of him. John saw him reaching out with both hands, and pressing gently on either side of Heath's neck, checking on him with genuine concern in his clear eyes.

John had always wondered why Ezekiel Jackson - who had always been seen by everybody as a good bloke, or even a teddy bear - had decided to join Wade Barrett - who was seen as the evil incarnated. But as he looked now at their little group, he started to understand. When Wade had claimed that The Corre had nothing to do with the Nexus, he hadn't lied. When he had told that he had changed and wouldn't repeat the mistakes he had done with the Nexus, he hadn't lied either. He didn't look any longer as a ruthless dictator. A few months ago, no one - not even clueless Heath - would have ever dared calling him _'daddy'_.

John observed as Wade was still checking on Heath, frowning whenever the younger one would wince, asking a few questions with a voice so low that the leader of the Cenation wasn't able to hear from his perch. He only could catch Wade's conclusion as he spoke with a serious tone, slightly anxious, but trying to hide his concern with a thin smile so that Heath wouldn't worry too much. "You're going to the hospital, young man. You might have a slightly dislocated neckbone and a concussion". Heath started to protest, claiming it was nothing that a good sleep night wouldn't heal. Wade's voice became firm.

"You do as I say, no discussion".

_'No leader, my ass!'_, John thought with a slight chuckle. He then saw Wade's ears twitching, and remembered with some fright about what Heath had once written on his twitter. That no, he was not snoring like a bison, Wade had just ears so big that he could pick up the slightest sound, to which some follower had asked with some humor if Wade was an elf.

With some dread, John saw almost in slow motion Wade's eyes moving and starting to scan their dark surrounding, before he lifted his gaze directly on Cena. The latter gulped with difficulty. Oh Lord, he had really heard him!

Ezekiel, who hadn't seen any of this, just smiled at Heath: "Remember Wade's university degree, Heath. Whenever science or health is involved, you just listen to him. A little more strength, and Big Show could have blown your head away".

Unbeknown to the rest of the Corre, Wade and John kept on staring at each other. But not with their usual hatred. Just silently, quietly, as some understanding passed between the two of them. There was a depth of knowledge in Wade's green eyes, and a hint of pity. He had seen Cena this evening. He had seen how the crowd had _'welcomed'_ him, he had seen how he had been treated like dirt by those who were supposed to respect him. He could have mocked him with a "Ha! See how it feels?", but it never even crossed his mind. In his eyes, Cena could see that Wade knew how it felt. People were quick to judge. One day you were on the Face pedestal your loving crowd had built for you. Except that you realized too late that the pedestal was very high and extremely narrow. It was easy to fall from it at the least inattentiveness. And once you were down to the Heel side, you almost never got a chance to show your true self again.

Cena had been down the Heel side a long time ago. He had started from there actually. He knew exactly the feeling and thus could understand the look in Wade's eyes. He had managed to climb the hill after awhile, and remained on top of the pedestal for years. But what for? In the end, it didn't matter: he was returning _home_.

He sadly smiled at Wade. After all, they were brothers now. Wade just silently nodded at him, before turning his attention back to his team members and on Heath in particular.

John turned his eyes away from the Corre members and looked up at the dark sky. Now that the charismatic Rocky was in command, he wouldn't get the slightest chance to win the crowd again. That the WWE universe had booed him at the Press Conference and in the Arena was one thing. But that wonderful and faithful crowd had cheered _the Miz_, for God's sake! This was complete madness! His world had turned upside down.

Unfortunately, even if it looked like a nightmare, it wasn't. The Rock was in control. John wouldn't even be surprised if he learnt that the Rock was actually the anonymous RAW General Manager. It would explain a lot of things actually.

He felt tired and dizzy, and closed his eyes, his face still slightly upward. What was he going to do now? Would he try against all odds to win the crowd again, knowing that for every move he would do, The Rock and The Miz would counteract with two or three moves of their own? John wondered how long his own energy would last, how long before the burnout in front of a lost cause? Did he have to try and desperately stick to his convictions? Or was it the time to recognize when a battle was lost because the enemy was too strong, choose another path, and live to fight another day?

Exhausting himself to death in front of two monsters, hoping that soon or late - better soon than too late - the crowd would recognize him and love him again? If instead, he was accepting the terrible facts, and moving on, down to the Heel side, the crowd would surely boo him, but at least, he would know _why_. That was his problem now. He just couldn't understand _why_ his fans were abandoning him. Hadn't he always tried his best for them? Even when he was in the Nexus, he had remained loyal to his conviction and faithful to his fans. It would have been so much easier for him back then had he walked by Wade Barrett's side, instead of constantly pulling on the other direction. Come to think of it, Wade hadn't been _that_ bad with him when he was with the Nexus. The stupid errands could even be seen as just the hazing newbies were usually facing when joining a fraternity or a gang. In reality, it was just the idea to be associated with a Heel group that disgusted and blinded him. He had really been afraid that his fans would hate him back then. When you saw the result now...

He sighed, not knowing what to do, which path to chose tomorrow. He wanted to do something that looked Right, but would it be right for him?

He heard a noise on his right. He snap-opened his eyes - regretting it instantly when headache stroke - and turned his head. His heart missed a beat when he saw Wade Barrett ten feet away from him, and walking slowly towards him on the ledge of the roof, with as only source of light, the few parking lampposts downward. He couldn't help his eyes from widening at that wraith vision.

"Easy, John...", the Brit told him quietly, raising a hand in an allaying movement. John looked briefly behind him. How long had he been lost in his own thoughts? How did the man arrive here? Was there something to climb over on the side of the building? He hadn't ventured there, and couldn't know. There had to be. Otherwise, it would just mean that Wade was not human!

John tensed abruptly and became completely still as Wade knelt near him. Whenever those two had been so close, a fight had always ensued, it was almost like a ritual, part of a legend. The situation now was almost as surreal as him getting booed by his own fans in the arena earlier tonight. He looked as Wade took a very thin single-led flashlight out of his pocket and rose it towards his face. The bright blue light that appeared made John close his eyes and wince in pain. Wade reached out and softly held Cena's chin in his hand, to gently force him to face him. He brought back the flashlight again and passed it in front of John's eyes, the right one first, then the left, then the right one again, then the left. During the whole process, he was gazing intensely at John's eyes. The leader of the Cenation didn't understand what he was doing, but Wade looked like _he_ knew what he was doing, the same way he had examined Heath a few minutes (hours?) earlier. John relaxed slightly when Wade moved the flashlight away.

"Did the light hurt, John?". He looked a little preoccupied. John opened slightly his mouth to affirm, but realized that he was so tired that he couldn't form a word. He gulped and simply nodded. In the dim light coming from the parking lot two floors lower, he saw Wade frowning slightly, as if suspicious. Then the dark haired man put the flashlight back in his pocket and slowly reached out for his face. John's eyes widened and he instinctively inched backwards.

Wade automatically suspended his movement and looked straight into John's blue eyes. "It's okay, John. I saw what the Miz did to you on the ring. I just want to check on you."

His accent was still strong, and his voice still low, but the dry and rough side of it was gone. John felt a little reassured. That, or maybe what he had seen and heard earlier, about Wade's knowledge in science and medical area. So, against his warrior's screaming memories, he let Barrett's hands touching his face. By little pressures, Wade's hands progressed from his chin, along his jaw, to the sinus area below and above his eyes. With his thumbs, he checked if the nose was broken. He asked John to tell him whenever it hurt, mentally noting the places where John would wince, even a little. His hands moved to John's temples, his fingers gently pressing in small circles, noting John's reaction before moving down behind his ears.

John noted in a quite puzzled way, that despite all their quarrels and fights, and the legendary hatred between them, Wade was able to put things in perspective and was _really_ checking on him, as if he was a complete stranger whom he had nothing against... Or another member of his team whom he cared about. The pressure he applied on the various part of his face or skull were not made to hurt, like he didn't want to add to the eventual damage already present; and he always adapted whenever Cena would express pain. This was weird, really weird. Wade treating him like a human being was unquestionably weird. But then, John had witnessed already this attitude earlier, when he had observed how Wade had checked on Heath. He had to admit: Barrett was not the same egoistical bastard he had met while in the Nexus. But seeing his former tormentor so close to him now had his fighting instincts kicking in. John decided to close his eyes to relax a little.

When he started moving his hands to the back of John's neck, Wade noted that the muscles near the skull junction were quite tensed, and that the older man slightly hissed in pain. It could be many thing, but Wade preferred to check, to push his worries away, or take the appropriate measures.

"John, have you still experimented loss of balance recently?"

John was taken off guard by Wade's voice, but welcomed the distraction. He opened his eyes, half-expecting to meet Wade's green eyes, but the Brit was looking slightly downward, as if he was listening to some sounds Cena couldn't perceive, or most likely as a blind man who would try to read a book written in Braille.

Wade wrongly understood John's silence and rephrased his question: "I saw you were staggering on the ring, and regularly fumbled. But since the end of the fight, have you still felt dizzy?"

John went back on how he had felt just before Wade had joined him on the roof, and with concentration, managed to voice out a "Yes". He felt it difficult to talk, as if his mouth was dry.

Wade's fingers moved to the back of his neck, and started to apply circular pressures, going down one vertebra after the other. If Cena's survival instincts were still kicking in, he also didn't like the expression in Wade's eyes, and almost feared the next question.

"Are you feeling tired right now?"

John just nodded. Speaking seemed a bit difficult. 'Tired' was a weak term. 'Exhausted' would have suited better. He saw Wade's eyes darkening.

"Have you lost consciousness since the match ended?"

John closed his eyes and nodded. He didn't see Wade's frozen expression, but heard his next question: "On the ring, did you experiment loss of perception?"

He had to focus on that question, first to _understand_ it. Then he remembered his blurred vision while fighting The Miz, how his hearing had failed him sometimes. He opened his eyes and nodded again. He felt Wade's fingers becoming still in the nape of his neck, before the Brit removed his hands from him and rested them on his own knees. He looked up at John with arched eyebrows.

"I suppose you didn't go to the medics yet, right?"

John got a weak smile. It seemed that Wade had studied his enemy cautiously in the past. Probably with the same careful scrutiny as a man with a three-day appetite would examine the "Eat all you can for 10 dollars" menu at the local Steak House.

"This is not funny, Cena". Wade's voice had retrieved some of his authority. The fact he was calling him 'Cena' again and not 'John', made the American more alert. Wade was not actually yelling at him, but speaking to him as if he was a reckless child. No wonder why Heath was calling him _'Daddy'_.

"I may be wrong", Wade started again in the same voice, "but you have many symptoms of an aneurysm. It may have resulted from all the kicks and beatings on the head the Miz gave you". Wade made a pause, to let John the time to assimilate the information. "If it ruptures, it is death assured. It might happen if you get another shock on the head. You really need to go to the hospital for a check, and eventually a shunt. That's all I can tell you". He stood up.

John might have looked like he didn't understand what Wade was telling him, but in fact, he did. It was just that those news, added to all the crazy things that had happened to him since the beginning of that nightmarish evening, was just too much. So he was going to die? Great. The advantage was that he would be relieved from making a choice for his future. Because, what could the future still hold for him?

He had sacrificed everything for his fans, trying everything in and out the ring in order to gain everyone's approval. That was his main flaw: he always wanted everyone to love him. He didn't like when someone seemed to dislike him, especially since he was sure that he was always doing the right things, and felt he had nothing to reproach himself. But rather than respect him for that, these judgemental fans were looking down at him any time he didn't look like superman. They had abandoned him for another hero, and he just didn't know why. He hadn't done anything wrong, had he?

Wade was on the ledge of the roof, looking down as his Corre team as Ezekiel was trying to help Heath on his feet, and Justin had gone to pick up the car. He slightly turned toward John.

"I know you can be pig-headed when you put an idea in that mind of yours, old man, and you'd rather let your pride eat you alive before you recognize you may have weakness sometimes", Wade paused as John winced. But he didn't know that Cena was rather pissed at the_ 'old man' _title, coming from someone only three years younger than him. "But you may also realise that life matters more than anything else. The glory, the titles... even your _fans_", Wade had managed to burden that word with the same disdain in his voice as a Southerner would have used to say _'Bloody Yankees!'_.

"All that...", Wade made a small gesture towards the arena with his left hand, "doesn't matter. You must live to fight another day. And after how they treated you, they lost their _right_ to ask you to be faithful to them. The Rock has been away for years; you were _always_ there for them. The Rock comes back two months, and they give up on you! That's how they are!". He made a pause before he went on: "You need to quit worrying about how to appease the WWE universe, and start figuring out how to get your career back on track. And it starts with you taking care of your health first, and go to the hospital just as I told you!"

John was taken aback by Wade's long speech, surprised to hear so much wisdom from a man who pretended he was only there to win titles and impose his authority on the WWE. A simple fact flashed in his mind. He and Barrett were opposites. While he spent most of his time trying to please his fans, Barrett kept saying he didn't care about them and remained focused on his career. As a result, himself was thrown as garbage while Barrett's career was shooting up like a rocket toward the sky.

_'Think about it Cena. Everything you've achieved so far on your own, you can achieve ten times that, by joining us'_. Those words spoken by Barrett many months ago, seemed to prove the reality. Back then, John had laughed, mocked him and refused to join his team, the Nexus not being exactly fan-compatible. Had he be wrong? Was that dark haired _kid_ right?

Now that he had fallen from his Face pedestal, should he exhaust himself trying to climb up again, or turn around, look straight at the darkness and say "Honey, I'm home!". Wouldn't it be easier? In the dark, no one expects a lot of things from you. It's a nice place to heal properly and gather your strength.

John looked up and met Wade's clear eyes and realized that he had been wrong on one thing. Wade was perhaps _biologically_ three years younger than him, but he looked older. The fact he was taller and larger probably helped. The physically stressing and mentally constraining work at the WWE tended to make the wrestlers age a little bit quicker than usual. Wade had already wrinkles around his eyes, and on his forehead that you wouldn't generally see on a thirty year old man, and his hard and usually tired features also accentuated that. All right, sometimes, the make-up they got on them before a show didn't help. But it was his _eyes_ that aged him a lot. The eyes of someone who had seen too much. And Cena remember suddenly, that the man in front of him was not a wrestler whose past experience was just made of trainings in fitness centers, or going through reality shows. He had gone on the field, in the wasteland of forsaken countries of Europe, fought amongst people _really_ dangerous, in battles where strength and techniques were not enough if you couldn't use your brain and instincts at high levels. Battles where "fighting for your life" could actually have a _vivid_ meaning. He had seen things that could have shattered the mind of most WWE wrestlers, and had probably done things he wasn't proud of, and would never want to talk about.

He would probably never be pushed as a Face by the Company. The advantage of being on the Heel side, is that a very low percentage of fans are going to waste time on you, and even less will investigate on your past. Therefore, not knowing about some _really _scary stories. Most of Cena's (previous) fans were young kids. From his experience, he knew that Wade Barrett as a Face would make those same kids run away, crying.

And yet, that dangerous man who was probably one of the only real warriors in the Company, was also capable of taking care on his team in a way even more human than what Cena had witnessed from most of the other wrestlers. In most WWE teams, whenever the situation became extreme, it was 'to each his own'. But The Corre was different. Not so long ago, when Justin had been attacked, Wade had provoked the Devil's favorite demon, just to make sure that the _"great big chemical experiment mistake"_ would focus on him only, perfectly knowing that his victory was not guaranteed. He didn't ask for any help, but when his strength started weakening, his team spontaneously came and threw themselves into the fight. He might not be the leader of the Corre, as he always said, but he was a _true leader of men_. And tonight, John Cena had a feeling that the rest of the Corre would gladly follow him into Hell if necessary. Maybe being kicked out of the Nexus was finally the best thing that ever happened to him.

Of course, the methods of The Corre made Cena puke sometimes. But face it. It worked. And as he looked down to the car which had been parked near the bench, how Justin and Ezekiel were helping Heath carefully climbing in, Cena realized that they was a warmth in that team that he hadn't seen very often in other groups. Maybe living in the Heel side was not totally bad. At least, you knew why you were booed. And if you managed to still have fans, you knew they were the faithful type.

As Wade started to walk away, Cena still looked at the three other Corre members down in the parking lot, wondering who would he be if he gave up struggling on climbing back on the Face pedestal, and decided to take the darker road down. He had always defined himself through the eyes of his fans, always did what they expected him to do. He had forgotten who he was a long time ago, when he was still a Heel. He felt now broken, and his physical state didn't help. He felt too exhausted to take a decision. All he wanted to do, was to lay down and sleep, hoping the next day would bring him directions for his future, or eternal rest. Two roads were ahead of him, he just didn't know which one to chose.

Somehow it was easier than the "free of fired" choice Barrett had once given him. It was a "live or die" choice. "Live to fight another day, or die just for a lost cause". But deep inside, his heart - so used to have the Cenation by his side - was shattered at the idea of losing everything.

_'The Cenation was everything to me'_, his thoughts started wandering with nostalgia. '_Without them, I don't know what I will do. Which road will I walk down tonight?'_

Wade had walked twenty feet away, when he stopped. Still looking straight ahead of him, he breathed in deeply, then sighed. Two seconds later, he turned back and walked to John, stopping three feet away from him, when the older man rose his blue eyes to him. Wade cleared his throat.

"Listen...", he started, frowning, slightly unease. "Even if I managed to put some sense into that thick mind of yours, you're in no condition to drive".

John just looked at him blankly, Wade continued: "We're already heading to the hospital for Heath. If we squeeze a little... Well, if _Eze_ squeeze a little, we can take a fifth person with us". John was petrified, having the feeling that the time of making a choice had finally come _way earlier_ than he had hoped. He was not ready for this. He really wasn't. The Brit saw his face expression and his wide eyes, and frowned.

"C'mon, John! It's not like I'm asking you to make a career choice just right in the aftermath of Wrestlemania and join The Corre!". However, Wade extended his hand to him. "I just don't want to let my best enemy die here alone, while I could have saved him". He smiled at John.

Cena looked at that hand he had refused to shake so many times in the past, remembering also that every times he had refused - thinking he was doing the Right Thing - it had systematically ended bad. Maybe it was time to change the bad habits.

When one road seems blocked, however unlikely the other looks, it may be the only way out.

John Cena didn't know it, but he did something many fans had hoped to see one day, and which unfortunately happened off-cameras: he extended his hand and wrapped it around Wade's. Their eyes locked for a moment, each probably remembering all the occasions of peace they had missed in the past. John hadn't chosen his next road yet, but the darkness seemed less scary tonight.

Wade slowly helped him on his feet, and when John showed signs of vertigo, so close to the ledge of the roof, Wade sighed and put John's arm around his shoulders, helping him walk to the end of the roof where he would help him climb down the security ladder.

And as they walked in this half darkness, John knew that he would miss the crowd, the fans, their cheers... But he knew that he had probably already lost all that.

**·..·**

**·..·..· -•(-•-•-)•-..·..·**

**THE END**

**(or "To be Continued?")**

**·..·..· -•(-•-•-)•-..·..·**

**·..·**

As a Wade Barrett's fan, I'm _**"supposed to"**_ dislike John Cena. But I can make the difference between what is performed on the ring for the show, and the reality. And the way the crowd behaved at the Press Conference for Wrestlemania, just p*ssed me off. Some people apparently don't know what _respect_ means, and cannot realize that without John Cena, the WWE wouldn't be what it is now. Financially and on Entertaining level.

The official video WWE released of that conference might have shown Cena a little bit tense with some vague crowd noise in the background, the reality was otherwise: people were shouting, insulting him, preventing him to talk. If he 'just looked tense' at the beginning, I remember that at the end, he looked like he was about to break nervously.

**·..·**

**Open message to all the **_**Happy Neanderthals**_** who were shouting at the Press Conference:**

A Press Conference is not a show. You are supposed to behave correctly as human beings, and not as PIGS! You all received an email warning you about that fact days before the P.C., and it was written in clear, simple words I thought everybody would be able to comprehend, but I was apparently wrong. Maybe next time, the mails will be filled with big drawings full of flashy colors! ;)

The man you insulted has been working for YEARS to entertain you. Give him some respect! The fact you don't like his character is fine. Nobody can be loved by everyone. But you should rather complain to the creative team of the WWE. The actor just follows his script. If you want to boo his character, there's the arena for it. On Press Conference, consider it is the actor behind the character who speaks to you. And if you don't want to listen to him, just don't come in and show what a bunch of brainless pathetic fools you can be!

**·..·**

I was already in a bad mood before I started writing this. Now it's got even worse.

::Roselyne::

_(__and for those of you who would love to yell, I'm on Twitter: Roselyne777 )_


End file.
